Flee fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse,Suffyce unto they good, though it be smal;For hord hath hate, and climbing tikelness,Prees hath envye, and wele blent overal;Savour no more than thee bihove shallReule wel thyself, that other folk canst rede;And trouthe the shal delivere, it is no drede.

Tempest thee noght al croked to redresse,In trust of hir that turneth as a bal:Gret reste stant in litel besinesse;Be war also to sporne ayeyns an al;Stryve not, as doth the crokke with the wal.Daunte thyself, that dauntest otheres dede;And trouth thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse,The wrastling for this world axeth a fal.Her is not hoom, her nis but wilderness:Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste, out of thy stal!Know thy contree, look up, thank God of all;Hold the heye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede;And trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.

Envoy

Therfor, thou vache, leve thyn old whrechednesseUnto the world; leve now to be thral;Crye him mercy, that of his hy goodnesseMaded the of noght, and in especialDraw unto him, and pray in generalFor thee, and eek for other, hevenlich medeAnd trouthe thee shal delivere, it is no drede.